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THE SONG 

OF THB 



WEDDING BELLS 



BY 



WILLIAM BONNIE OCKHAME 




NEW YORK 

THE GRAFTON PRESS 



THE LIBRARY OF 

CONGRESS, 
TWO COWE6 Recsiveo 

SFP. 10 1902 

COPVWOHT FHT3V 

(Xucj. 2.0, t^o^ 
CLASS ^XXo. No 



COPY 8. 



«J 





/?*a 



Copyright igo2 
By The Grafton Press 



f 


i 


1 

? CONT] 


THE WOOING 


THE WEDDING TRIP 


THE FIRESIDE 



PROEM 

The nightingale went far astray, 

Returning in the spring. 
She learned no new song. Hear her sing 

The old song, sweet alway. 

Goethe. 



THE WOOING 



LOVE-CHANGES. 
After the French of Alfred de Musset. 

I said to my heart, to my feeble heart: 
Are you not yet done changing old love 
for new? 

And while the roses and myrtles fade, 
Still will you weep over wreaths of rue? 

It answered to me: I am not yet done, 
I am not yet done changing for new love old; 

And as the myrtles and roses fade, 
Dearer they grow to us thousandfold. 



ONE HATH NOT BOWED THE KNEE 
TO BAAL. 

Here is one woman wise yet true, 
Who will not do or think or say all 

That modern women think, say, do; 
One hath not bowed the knee to Baal. 

No tinsel show, but truth right through; 

Nor pays the tribute which they pay all,— 
And pay it though they dearly rue; 

One hath not bowed the knee to Baal. 



At last, here is a woman who 

Has knowledge and does not display all; 
Does mercy and in silence, too; 

One hath not bowed the knee to Baal. 



THE CAPTIVE. 

Oh, sing again! Thy song hath swept, 
Like birds in gracile flight arisen, 

Past captive knight, who long had wept, 
Though sky-ward towered, immured in prison. 

What is, you ask, the joy grief gives? 

To think, bird, of my bright home yonder; 
To feel my mind still lives! still lives! 

The heart lives that can grieve and ponder. 

The airs thou sing'st, into fine air, 
Above dull Earth and fortune's minions, 

A weary, captive genius bear — 
Sing! sing, sweet bird! Lend me thy pinions! 

AFFINITY. 

Like as one in a foreign land, 
Who singeth in a language sweet, 

Might touch as with a spirit wand, 
But that it falls on ears unmeet; 

Like to one in a foreign land, 
Who yearns for that companionship 



JO 



Which moveth as with music bland 
In accents from a native lip; 

One lived devising lofty thought, 
But lived as yet unheard, unknown. 

Another subtle soul was wrought, 
In soft, melodious undertone. 

Does not the mountain meet the sea? 

Arches not one great heaven above? 
When these two met, why marvel ye, 

That they at once should fall in love. 

THE MESSENGER. 

God's gentlest angel from the skies 

Above 

Down came. 

He oped his arms and shut his eyes; 

This was his name: 

Love. 

RIPE MANHOOD. 

What if the first fierce flame be past, 

Sweeping as prairie fire? 
Passing swift is the furnace blast; 

Lasting are love and ire. 

What if the vale of youth be left, 
Verdantly wrapped in bloom? 



Firm on the peak, above rift and cleft, 
Bright we stand o'er the gloom. 

Strange whom the kisses of life can cloy! 

Thought throbs with deeper glow 
Smit with all grief and thrilled with all joy; 

Which the heart of man may know. 

Yield not! to suffer and know and dare, 

This is to be alive; 
Stronger to counsel, to help and bear, 

Stronger to love and strive. 

The ripe brain guideth the manly hand; 

Still the red heart beats strong. 
All that we feel and understand 

Glows into act and song. 



THE BANISHED NIGHTINGALE. 

The nightingale has been expelled 

From modern poetry. 
I heard her song; it sweetly welled, 

It sweetly welled from thee. 

That she sings now as e'er she sung, 

My ravished ear avow'th. 
The nightingale dwells in thy tongue^ 

Its rosy cage thy mouth. 



12 



PHILLIPENA. 

Accept this package at my hands 

There are some sweets within; 
In German it's called a Vielliebchen and 

In English a fillipeen. 

When finding two almonds one shell within, 

Like an elf and a bumble-bee, 
Did you know that playing at fillipeen, 

Folks kissed for a penalty? 

That fashion is dropped. One's manners 
change. 

They will change again, I ween, 
When you meet the person to whom you will be 

The German for fillipeen. 

THE ARCH AND THE ARROW. 
The curving of Love's arch I did not know 

Until I met her eyebrows' curve and hue; 
Nor felt the shaft bright-speeding from his bow, 
Until her eyes' clear glance had pierced me 
through. 

THE GIRDLE. 
Dear Girdle, 'round her slender waist, 
Speak in a whisper low and chaste: 
I know two arms, if they were placed 
Where now my curve by yours is graced, 
A longing lover would be blest. 



13 



THE VALENTINE. 

When sap flows upward in the bough, 
And nesting, chirping birds appear, 

The budding spring comes soon enow, 
The sweetest time in all the year. 

While love flows on in life's young vein, 

And tender fancies reappear, 
Young spring shall still with us remain 

And glow through all the changing year. 

While birds far from their nest may roam, 
And leaves appear and reappear, 

Sweet love shall make abiding home, 
And sweet spring-time in all the year. 



ECHO. 

O, dear Echo, tell me duly, for my heart is sad 

and sore, 
Will my sweetheart love me truly, will he love 
for evermore? 
For evermore — Evermore. 

O, dear Echo, tell me duly, for my heart is in 

my breath, 
Will my sweetheart love me truly, will he love 

e'en unto death? 
E'en unto death — Unto death. 



14 



O, dear Echo, tell me duly, then I'll know 

what I shall do? 
Will my sweetheart love me truly, in his heart 

sweet, brave and true? 
Sweet, brave, and true — Brave and true. 

O, dear Echo, thank you duly, for the truth 

your answer bore. 
If my sweetheart loves me truly, I'm content; 

I ask no more. 
Aye, ask no more — Ask no more. 



NOT TO BE LOVED. 

Not to be loved! Tis not to see the light 
That floods from eye to eye, a spirit sea, 

Swaying the throbbing heart with quivering 
might, 

Deep-billowed bliss and breakers of affright 
Succeeding o'er the spirit endlessly. 

Yet love and lose! Oh, fearful, fearful night! 
No light except that hell-fire's grinning glee! 
No! No! I'll take calm reason's remedy: 
Not to be loved. 

Poor love! Poor reason! Fierce, unending 
fight! 
Were but one word less modest or less free! 
Were but one glance less innocently bright! 



I must love her! — must — in a trembling plight. 
That love is life! It would be death to me 
Not to be loved. 



THE COMING OF SPRING. 

The spring it is coming anon, anon! 

For the clear brooks are running the pebbles 

upon; 
Ice yesterday bound them; it's melted and gone. 
Spite the hedge-hidden snows and the keen 
cutting breeze, 

A spring-flood's might 
Rose over night, 
And its tide is flowing high up in the trees. 

Quick love has shyly come to us both; 

Nor to laugh, nor to lean, nor to listen we're 
loath. 

In our cheeks mantles joy, in the trees mantles 
growth. 

Our glances like sunlights of spring come and 
flee. 

But troth, still and bright, 
Will come over night, 

When the catkins hang fringing the lithe wil- 
low-tree. 

We will shoot the swift rapids, we'll dream by 
the sea, 



16 



We will wander o'er mountain and woodland 

and lea, 
Like the sunbeams and singing birds, happy 

and free. 
In the hammock we'll swing, in the whispering 

breeze, 

'Neath the verdant twilight 
Of the leafy wood-night, 
When the summer lies brooding on top of the 

trees. 



THE YANKEE HOME IN THE LEAFY 
LANE. 

When fancy-balls show king and elf, 

And in the social whizz and whirr 
A peachblow vase shames honest delf, 

I with the boys condog, concur. 
But when the spring comes, I demur 

To being pleasure's weather-vane, 
All better thoughts return to her 

In the Yankee home in the leafy lane. 

I own a hardy taste for pelf, 
For git-and-go, and push and stir. 

Pshaw! lay romance upon the shelf! 
I with the boys condog, concur. 

But when the spring wears bud and burr, 
And a sunshine smile through misty rain, 



17 



On one sweet form my thoughts confer, 
In the Yankee home in the leafy lane. 

Some fawn on England's royal Guelph; 

Some others to our people purr; 
I'm just as bad as that myself; 

I with the boys condog, concur. 
But when the catkins dangle fur, 

And spring comes in his flowery wain, 
Pure thoughts a purer crown aver, 

In the Yankee home in the leafy lane. 

When wintry biz and buzz deter, 
I with the boys condog, concur. 
Spring comes! Oh, soul without a stain, 
In the Yankee home in the leafy lane! 



TA-TA. 

Oh, Muse, I've sung until I'm hoarse; 

Thou art too immaterial. 
Thou'rt passing, passing fair, of course, 

But the least, least bit ethereal. 

Thou art like toys of mundane sort, 
That first excite, then cool a man; 

For thou, and Wall Street, work, and sport, 
Are various traps to fool a man. 

18 



I'll leave the town and dockets dull, 

For one — it can't be harmful — 
If I can't have my pockets full, 

At least I'll have an armful. 

NOR' WARD! 

Vermont grows green and the maple fills, 
As the spring comes north o'er the Berkshire 
hills. 

Yes, the sap in the trees and one's heart-blood 
thrills 

When the spring cometh north o'er the Berk- 
shire hills. 

A sweetheart waits and a dear heart thrills 
As I ride in the spring o'er the Berkshire hills. 

WOOING A ROSE. 

Whispering plead I with thee: 
Does thy blush speak unto me? 
Ah! speak, rose. 

Is it as much as to say: 
Hence far, thou bold one, away? 
Ah! speak, rose. 

Or does it answering start: 
"Yes!" from thy pure, rosy heart? 
Ah! speak, rose. 



io 



A SURVIVAL. 

With the uplifted cross there closes 
The age of Jove, excepting this: 

From lips that part like double roses 
Is still born Venus' dove, the kiss. 

ROLLING-STONE JUNCTION. 

The pine-trees sigh softly at Rolling-Stone 

Brook, 
Two paths towards the stepping-stones join- 
ingly broaden. 

Sit awhile and tarry. 

They seem to whisper me: 
Marry — aye — marry, 
And how happy you will be! 

The waves prattle gaily down Rolling-Stone 

Brook, 
Till the brook and the river in gay movement 
mingle. 

Sit awhile and tarry. 

They seem to murmur me: 
Marry — aye — marry, 
And how happy you will be! 

Here we two stand alone 

On the center stepping-stone. 

Around us the water and the vast pine-wood, 

A resinous, sun-speckled solitude. 



20 



'Round our feet swift-glancing waves bubble 
and hiss. 

I clasp thee and kiss. 
Will you say to me: 
I'll marry? 
"I'll marry." 
Ah! how happy we shall be! 



I HAVE BEEN KISSED. 

I have been kissed. Awake I dream. 

Day-life doth but a dream-life seem. 
At night, the dream-life of the day 
Bursts like the blossoming of a spray; 

Bursts as through clouds an April gleam. 

No longer chills the wintry beam; 
As though of summer light a stream 
Enrobed my soul in warming ray, 
I" have been kissed. 



THE FIRST THUNDER IN SPRING. 
Air: Battle Hymn of the Republic. 

Look! the pallor of the Spring-skies is now 

darkly under-browed; 
They are carrying off dead Winter in yon 

darkling thunder shroud; 

21 



Hear the clapping of the hands of every fertile 
wonder-cloud, 

As Spring comes rolling in. 

Hail! all hail! the winds are singing, 
Purifying lightning flinging; 
Hear his chariot wheels come ringing! 
The Spring comes rolling in. 

And the spirits of the mid-air dance in elemen- 
tal glee, 

And the fresh Earth smiles up at them, for the 
bride of Spring is she; 

He has slain the glum old Winter, and the 
maiden setting free, 

The Spring comes rolling in. 

Hark! the organ-peals are sounding, 
From the high green hills rebounding, 
And the Moon her pale light rounding, 
The bride-train ushers she. 

In the low west burn the bonfires. Now they 

slowly fade away; 
Lit in honor of the bridal, by the parting God 

of Day; 
And with silver mist for veils, the blushing 

Earth in bride-array, 

With Spring is left alone. 

In his brow the love-star shining, 
Balmy airs his locks entwining, 



22 



From the bending skies inclining, 
He smiles upon the Earth. 

Though the god may ride in thunder and in 
lightning through the sky, 

Yet when all the glorious tumult of his wed- 
ding has gone by, 

There's a man, oh Spring, but one man, with 
thy godhead who may vie, 

For his Spring is rolling in. 

High upon the cliffs there lingers 
His fair bride with dainty fingers. 
Ring heaven's blue bell, springtime ringers! 
For Spring comes rolling in! 



THE SPRING OF LOVE. 

Like the stirless depths of heaven 
Rests my life, warmed by the sunlight 
Of thy love. My spring has come 
Suddenly. O love! spring! heaven! 

And to her who brought me spring-time 

Spring has come — my rose and lilies! 

I will kiss the dainty calyx, 

Buds half opened — lips and eyelids. 



23 



TROUTING. 

Seven-and-twenty trout! 

Sport has been good. 
'Neath us the plain fades out; 

'Round us the wood. 

Not straight for home just yet! 

Wait till the Moon 
Feeds every starry pet 

Out of her spoon. 

Now they have supped and come 

All out of doors; 
Singly and doubly some, 

Others by scores. 

Mingled are green and blue, 

Night-skies and tree; 
See love's own star peep through 

Curiously! 

Air-perfumed, forest-free, 

Out of the wood, 
Home they wend happily. 

Sport has been good. 



THE BIRD. 

Here is a little bird- 
Still! not a word. 

24 



She holds up her beak to his bill, 
Her beak to bill — 
One of great Nature's laws — 
Beak-cause. 



DRUNK WITH LOVE. 

Spring has come and the air is wine, 
And the warm, red kiss of the lady mine! 
Birds in the beaker of love carouse. 
Spring! Love! Green dawn in the greenwood 
boughs ! 



A REPLY. 

'Tis true you are a "shrewd old woman, 
True also, I am "rash and bold," 

"Act foolishly, as mostly do men." 
I'm neither woman, shrewd, nor old. 

You tell me "she is neither bright, 
Nor is she rich" — in golden hoard. 

Life is a battle; in the fight 
I do not want a woman's sword. 

I want a woman's sympathy; 

I want a glowing at my kiss; 
I want a stirless faith in me; 

And she is rich in all of this. 



25 



OLD TONGUES AND YOUNG EYES. 

Old tongues may wag with saws full wise, 

But the young eye loveth still. 
Old lips may scoff, old tongues advise, 

Red lips burn when they will. 

The brain may say that love is wrong, 

That love is all in vain. 
The human heart will strive and long; 

The heart heeds not the brain. 

Oh, love me till I die with you! 

Clasp me in love's hot breath! 
Kiss, kiss me! I will vie with you. 

And if love end, why — death. 



THE FAITH IN LOVE. 

The seed that falleth from on high, 
May sink and decompose and die. 

Much good upon the heart is wrought 
By wintry storms of cynic thought. 

Love's sun returns in the fresh spring-morn: 
A new faith in the heart is born. 



26 



LOVE AND DIE. 

Love and die! The ecstasy 

Of one instant is the world. 
Not the all-embracing sea, 
Nor all the caves in Earth that be, 

Hold such miracle enfurled. 

Stars and flowers die by decree, 
In an iron-storm-wind hurled; 

And the blossom from the tree, 

It is driven wearily. 
Ere death's cold, gray dust has whirled, 

Live one hour of godlike glee: 
Love and die! 

THE SWEET-BRIER. 

I shall meet my love by the sweet-brier bush 

Behind the orchard wall, 
Where in the stilly evening's hush 

The apple-blossoms fall. 

When the moon is out with her silver light, 
And the stars in heaven's dark blue, 

I shall dream the brief and fragrant night 
Of the sweet-brier and you. 

When I see the brier through the morning mist 

Peep o'er the orchard wall, 
I shall think of the time of our coming tryst: 

Rosy even-fall. 



27 



LOVE AND MUSIC. 

Love in music ever thought; 
Speech is cold and coarsely wrought. 
But in strains of melody- 
Love speaks; earthly shadows flee. 
Love is life's pure harmony. 

THE SONG OF SONGS. 

I've drunk until my brain doth reel 

With ecstasy divine; 
The looks of fresh, young love I steal 

From out thy downcast eyne. 

I've gazed upon the branchy maze 

That doth thy temples grace, 
Till roses grew beneath my gaze, 

And mantled o'er thy face. 

I've questioned of thy lilied lid, 

Of thy sweet brow no less; 
They told me what they would have hid: 

Thy love and loveliness. 

Like budding spring thy soft words breathed, 

Tremulous, timid, low, 
Through teeth by crimson lips ensheathed; 

Young rosebuds filled with snow. 

Thy golden hair, thy rosy lip, 
Are as the Olympian's wine: 

28 



Of either he a kiss who sip, 
Fore'er a god shall shine. 

Thy snowy neck, those tiny shells, 

The chastely braided hair, 
Breathe calm such as the Sabbath bells 

O'er blossoming orchards bear. 

I've looked on many a virgin brow, 

On many a mountain rill; 
Holy and pure they were, but thou 

Art purer, holier still. 

No harsh, untuneful word shall free 

My thoughts tumultuous throng. 
I'll teach the birds on mount and lea 

To trill them in their song. 

I'll teach the rose to pale and blush* 

The winds to sigh above thee. 
As to mine eye the wild tears rush, 

The world shall cry: I love thee! 

LOVE'S DRINKING SONG. 

The black earth drinketh the gay sunshine, 

And the dews of the starry night; 
And she laughs in the rose, in the swinging 
vine, 
And the trees of the mountain height, 

My love, 
And the trees of the mountain height. 



29 



The dark sea drinketh the gay sunshine 

And the fresh breeze as it blows, 
Laughing back at the sky from the waving 
brine, 
Singing as she goes, 

My love, 
Singing as she goes. 

And Love, he drinketh the gay sunshine, 

The laughter of thine eyes, 
And flings it over the earth, the brine, 

And the starry skies, 
My love, 

And the starry skies. 

LOVE AND NATURE. 

When the blithe Day in splendor 

Glides through the lightsome sky-dome, 

Light him my love doth lend, or 
Her arch glance in his eye roam. 

When the chaste Night in dimness, 

Veileth her soft charms lustrous, 
'Tis but my love in her slimness 

Innocent, gracile, clustrous. 

When the mild Even dovely 

Standeth between the two now, 
Wonder not why she is lovely; 

'Tis but my sweetheart true. Thou 



30 



Art to me daybreak, daylight, 

Moon and starlight's potion; 
Thou pourest every stray light, 

Livest in every motion. 

Rustling! Oh, hark! See the blonde lace! 
Shimmering morn-mist through the trees 
borne! 
Is it the blush of thy fond face? 
Tis the Morn on the fragrant, soft breeze 
borne. 



FAME AND LOVE. 

O love, I care not though on many lips 
My name shall hover at a distant time, 

If it unspoken in the sweet eclipse 
Of thy pure heart be pulsed as a chime. 



A LOVERS' QUARREL. 

We need not quarrel. Let us part. 
Take back your own, return my heart. 
Give back my own absurd old letters 
And take back yours, alas! their betters. 
Now then, to settle all in fine, 
Come take your kisses; give me mine. 



3i 



A MESSAGE. 

I send you a rose and for-get-me-not, 
With green leaves wreathed. for hope between; 
For where true love hath wept in the morn, 
Sweet scents of flowers rise i' the e'en. 



ALLEGIANCE. 

Time was men worshiped royalty, 
And died in proud, true loyalty. 
Now men are free, for that time was; 
The king is dead, the nobles dross. 

Husbands, when women honored them, 
At home wore royal diadem. 
Now women are as free as men; 
That chain will never gall again. 

Has all been gain? Has naught been loss? 
Was naught good in the time that was? 
Life is confused, but half resolved; 

But half the dimness is dissolved. 

« 

What conscience and religion chid, — 
'Tis self of which we must be rid. 
Yet not to spouse or king or pelf; 
Bow down unto thine higher self. 

It may be some sublimer soul 

To whom you turn as pole to pole. 

32 



Strike faith although thy heart's blood bind it. 
Thus they who lose their life shall find it. 

A COMPLIMENT. 

Thou'rt better than the science men profess, 
And better than the wisdom of the street; 
For thou art like religion, love, a sweet 
Unreasonableness. 

CONFESSION. 

Ofttimes I rued the lot of womanhood; 

It seemed a life so narrow, so in vain. 
I knew that which was great and which was 
good, 

But could not do it. Knowledge was a pain. 

I met you, and I know not how the Earth 
Will hold my bliss. You kissed me — then I 
knew 

Whatever be the forfeit, it is worth 
Being a woman to be loved by you. 

KEEPSAKE. 

A piece of iron touched becomes magnetic; 
Prophetic 

Of Nature's mysteries. 
So does a kerchief, ribbon, ring or fan 

Become a talisman, 
Endowed with speech of cunning histories. 



33 



YACHTING. 
After the French of Alfred de Vigny. 

Come to the sea, young girl, 

Come without fear, 
Where the waves dance and swirl;, 

I shall be near. 
See my boat rise on their swell! 
Safely thou'lt ride in that shell, 

» My sail above thee. 

Earth was made for the slave, 

Chosen one, rare one; 
Waves for the free and brave, 

Loved and fair one. 
Hearken! wave after wave 

Laugh and dare one. 
List what I think: By our side 
Murmuring they gurgle, they glide: 
Sweet, come; I love theel 

HEAVEN'S SIGNATURE. 

About an apple I did tie a glove 
That had been given by the lady mine. 

I said: The stars shall weep my hapless love, 
The sun her dear, melodious name shall sign. 

I cut her name where her white hand had been, 
Aught but her name had been a sacrilege, 



34 



Indeed, a most unpardonable sin, 
Committed on a reliquary pledge. 

The stars shone out full many a dew-wept night, 
The ruddy sun shone many a glowing day, 

And their pure tears and his swift-weaving light 
Brought beauty forth from cells that had 
been clay. 

The apple grew, as at my heart the pangs 
Of being parted from my lady fair, 

Till rounded on the bough the ripe fruit hangs; 
Pale what I covered, red what I left bare. 

Thus, oh, thou calm, dew-weeping firmament, 
And thou, Sun, in thy chariot of flame, 

By night and day alternate have ye bent, 
With skyey fingers but to write her name. 



ON HER PORTRAIT. 

To me, who read thy features like a book, 
There is a gospel in thy every look. 
I reverence in thee Earth's highest good: 
The majesty of noble womanhood. 



FLOWER- LANGUAGE. 

I came where my love in slumber 
Graced her garden-seat. 



35 



The roses she loves, without number, 

Lay at her dainty feet. 
The song-birds she feedeth came singing. 

Fluttering chirpingly; 
Thin tendrils over her swinging 

Half hid the mountain and lea. 

Sweet is my love to see! 

Dreaming, my dainty, of me. 

Stealthy I, entering her grotto, 
Green in the leafy, dim shine, 

Made of the flowers a motto, 
By the round arm divine: 
;When will you, Dainty, be mine? 



THE WEAVERS. 

Life, like old tapestry, shows scenes of folly, 
Raptures of passion, glooms of melancholy. 
Yet richer strands of love and joy and thought 
Into the sombre hanging may be wrought. 

Life's warp is dark. Its woof we make or mar, 

as 
Our own hand, deft or daft, inweaves the arras 
To show a troubled monster or a fair 
Virgin with shining mien and golden hair. 



36 



INDIAN SUMMER. 

The horizon lost in a luminous haze, 
The still, ripe woods in a crimson blaze, 

Falling leaves — lingering — -not hying, 
Some birds, as we motionless upward gaze, 

Slowly southward flying; 
The year, fair year, sinks into a daze; 

The year is dying. 

This leaf that fell is the tender sap 
Of the glad spring-time that rose; 
This seed that floats to the mossy lap, 
The death, whence a new year grows. 
The woods aglow 
And the soft skies low 
Breathe a calm repose. 

Surface-pause in the life incessant; 

The calm of the future vast, 
With the glowing eyes of the present, 
And the soul of the hallowed past; 
And the Indian haze 
Of the aeoned days 
Over it all is cast. 



37 



THE WEDDING TRIP 



THE WEDDING TRIP. 

This wonder-time breathe as we ought 
In sweet unworldliness of thought, 

Love-woven as in Merlin's fairy bowers. 
Love's glowing days are all too fleet; 
Bright let them roam with rosy feet, 

Revelling with us and with the cloudless 
Hours. 



THE ALTAR GIFT. 

Aneath the wave a myriad fishes swim, 
A witness-race of fore-worlds long agonc; 
In half-dawn dimness they themselves moved 
dim, 
Until their scales in rainbow colors shone, 
Love-burnished into hues, for they had love to 
give. 

The birds, like man, with daily care opprest, 
Wear working-clothes and chirp a work- 
man's lay, 
Until, when 'gins the building of the nest, 
They glow in hues and thrill in warbles gay: 
Love throbs in feathered throat, for they have 
love to give. 

The plants, who nearest cling to Nature's 
heart, 
And nurture life with gatherable fruit, 
Are drest in sober green the greater part, 
Yet breathe in colors eloquently mute 
When trembling into bloom, for they have love 
to give. 



43 



To live for self alone is winter-time; 

To love another heart is life and spring. 
Through all her ages and in every clime 
Our Mother Nature doth her mystery sing: 
"To you song, color, bloom! ye that have love 
to give." 

Maid, lo! the color in my cheek, mine eye, 
The reverent incense stealing o'er my 
thought; 
For lonely life is half-truth, half a lie, 
Truth into song my love for thee hath 
wrought; 
Love's song and glow and bloom, for I have 
love to give. 

WEDDING BELLS. 

Come, my love, why tarry you? 

The carriage is at the door. 
Minutes seem days till I marry you, 

To be mine for evermore, 
My love, 

To be mine for evermore. 

Goddess of love, I call on thee! 

Hie thou my love to the door, 
•Or poetical curse may fall on thee, — . 

Aye, mine for evermore, 
Goddess! 

Aye, mine for evermore. 



44 



Venus! Thy doves did they carry thee? 

Comest thou forth from the door? 
I did not say I would marry thee. 

Ah! 'tis the girl I adore 
Has come 

To be mine for evermore. 



DIXIE. 

The prettiest girl in all the land 
Is mine 
Indeed! 
There's not a doubt about it. 
She is so blithe and bonnie, 
Of lissome gait; 
Her lips are sweet as honey, and 
Her eyes deep as the ocean. 

There's many a dark streak in my make, 
I own 
Right up. 
But she's the girl to cure me. 
She is both kind and merry 
And pure of heart. 
Sin can't abide her presence — so 
She must be my good angel. 

And now that she is mine indeed, 
Is mine 
Indeed, 



45 



And not a doubt about it, 
We both are blithe and merry, 
And lithe of gait, 

As we strap the Saratoga trunk 
For the bridal jaunt through Dixie. 

ALKMENA. 
After the Latin of Plautus. 

My dowry think I not my dowry, but 
These count as dowry: Shame-faced woman- 
hood, 
Restraint of greed, the fear of God, the love 
Of family and concord in the home; 
Loving my husband's wishes; yielding gifts 
To all who need; friendship to all good people. 

THE TRANSIT. 

To the sun-swept fable-land, 
Where the magic flowers blossom 
By the glistening coral sand; 
Past the wide and gleaming ocean, 
Under skies that arch and glow with 
Lightsome dreams of youth and fancy 
Ride we. 

This my winged horse 
Bears us high aloft; he champs an 
Airy bit; he rears — then stands, 

46 



Still and shining wondrously. 
Lightly vaulting, touch the strand, 
For this is the fable-land. 

Pegasus? Not so. To-day, 
He who rides the steed Pegasean 
Is behind the times. This horse 
Is of modernized construction. 
Whilom rode it Cambuscan; 
You know, Chaucer speaks of him. 
'Tis the steed of polished brass 
Which the Squier descanted on 
To the Canterbury Pilgrims. 
Nowadays, a man turns writer, 
Vaulting upon polished brass. 

He is gone. — You are with me 
In the Union's true Atlantis! 

A CAMP-MEETING PRAYER. 

I am wakened up by the children's prattling 

words, 
And the red daylight and the twittering of the 
birds, 
When the Lord opes the portals of the morn- 
ing. 

He will listen to the prayers of His children all; 
If their skins be black or white makes no dif- 
ference at all 
To the Lord as He listens in the morning. 

47 



For the white man and the black are the chil- 
dren of the Lord, 

And the good man is beloved and the bad man 
is abhorred 
Of the Lord in the evening and the morning. 

As the Lord's sun shines on the goober and 

the pine, 
On the windows of the big house and this little 
house of mine, 
The Lord shall judge us in the morning. 

Let me be one of the saints who are placed 

upon the right, 
'Mong the angels who don't care for the color 
black or white, 
Any more than the Lord does in the morning. 

O Lord, let me ever walk withouten any sin, 
Till Thy great day comes, and the world-de- 
vouring din, 
And Thy judgment-seat in the morning. 

When the skies are streaked with the tokens 
of Thy wrath, 

And men along the big road and the little coun- 
try path, 
On Thy judgment-day in the morning. 

Guide me right, dear Lord, in the things I 
have to do, 



And when Thy clay is come, let this black child 
of Thine, too, 
Enter in at the gates of the morning. 



DOWN BY THE OCMULGEE. 

Oh, when I was a pickaninny boy, 

Down by the Ocmulgee, 
Then life it was a pleasure and life it was a joy, 
Down by the Ocmulgee. 

I was but a little nigger, 

But there never warn't no bigger 
In my own conceit than me, 
Down by the Ocmulgee, 
Down by the Ocmulgee, 

With the lonesome bank 

And the brushwood rank, 

Down by the Ocmulgee. 

When I grew, I thought as the other niggers do> 
G'way from the Ocmulgee, 
And I came up North, till I came to Ka'ma- 

zoc h 

'Way from the Ocmulgee. 

And I shined and made some money, 

And I wed my darling honey, 
Born by the Ocmulgee, 
Down by the Ocmulgee, 
Down by the Ocmulgee, 



49 



With the lonesome bank, 
And the brushwood rank 

Down by the Ocmulgee. 

Oh, when I think what a happy time it was, 
Down by the Ocmulgee, 
Both my wife and I believe we'll go back to. 

stay there, boss, 

Down by the Ocmulgee, 

If the Lord will let us hab in 

Peace a simple little cabin, 

And this here little pickaninny, 
Down by the Ocmulgee, 
Down by the Ocmulgee, 

With the lonesome bank, • 

And the brushwood rank, 

Down by the Ocmulgee. 

THE WEDDING GIFT. 

What shall I lay at my dear love's feet? 

Fame enshrines no deed I've done; 

Pearl and ruby have I none; 
Fluttering verses fade and fleet. 

What. shall I lay at my dear love's feet? 

I 

What shall I lay at my dear love's feet? 
Pure and warm like dew and sun, 
Naught which is lightly lost and won; 

Love, for love is the guerdon meet. 

Love will I lay at my dear love's feet. 



50 



DIANA AND STYX. 

By the river of death dread Diana had sworn — 
Even gods may not take it in vain — 

That forever the arrow of Love she would scorn, 
And a virginal goddess remain. 

From the worm in the dust to Olympus on high 

Love ruleth, the monarch of all. 
No longer immortal, she left with a sigh 

The golden Olympian hall. 

And descended to Earth, she hath plighted her 
troth 

For a brief mortal space to abide. 
So far, I can't say but we do like it both, 

I myself, and Diana, my bride. 



A FLORIDA PICNIC. 

Love, of course, is excellent. 
Poetry is very good, too, 
When it says just what the heart meant; 
Both lift wqmen far above men. 
But what women, when they love men, 
Should, above all, strictly see to, 
Is the victualling department. 

You've composed a real poem 
In this basket. Its refrain 



51 



Falls upon my gustatory 
Nerves and rhymes repeatedly. 

It's a most delicious poem, 
Well-composed, melodious, thoughtful, 
In a tin-and-glass edition. 
And this cooling tag of wind, 
Off and on, from o'er the breakers, 
Has an appetizing accent. 
Then again, this cart is tented; 
So to speak, a proper head-line. 

They tell me that metempsychosis 
A most absurdly antique joke is 
In novel dress. 
But I confess 
A touch Sheolean 
To see this negro whip his mule, 
And shout: "Get up, you durn ol' fool! 
Get up, Napoleon!" 

Here's the fountain in the surf! 
Let the salt sea-breeze sweep 'round your 
Cheek and fair dishevelled hair. 
From the boat we easily 
Dip a beaker of sweet water 
From the saltness. See! it bubbles 
Bravely up within the brine, 
Even though the angry billows 
Rise at times to overwhelm it. 



52 



THE FOUNTAIN IN THE SURF. 



The Earth must have her oceans dread and vast, 
Mirroring heaven's stars and lightning sweep, 
And choiring with their voices deep to deep, 
In murmuring calm or roar of thunder-blast. 
O'er their bright bosoms clouds and stars have 
passed, 
Real and yet as dreams o'er one asleep. 
The tropic shores they hold in yielding grip, 
And the opposing poles chill and aghast. 
E'en such a poet's vast, deep, billowy breast, 
Globing the world. — Woman's untainted love 
Bears sweeter office; she's the well, pure-fed, 
Sweetening the salt life's billows of unrest. 
But this spring 'mid salt waves, the heavens 
above, 
Images: Love and poesy are wed. 



Pledge me, love, and fling the beaker, 
There it dances, there it falls, 
Like the King of Thule's goblet! 



Now, upon the dreamy shore 

Of the ocean, let us sit. 
O'er the sullen surges' roar 
Shades of French and Spaniard flit, 
Gone two hundred years or more. 



53 



THE BUCCANEER'S SONG. 

Sing heigh! Sing ho! ye jolly companions 

mine. 
Sing heigh! Sing ho! Sing ho! for the gold- 
en wine. 

A fig for the morrow! 
Then let us drown sorrow, 
For who would now mope or repine? 

Sing heigh! Sing ho! 
Sing ho! for the golden wine. 

Sing heigh! Sing ho! my jolly companions all. 
Sing heigh! Sing ho! for Beauty — our sword 
is her thrall. 

Bright eyes that inspire us, 

Sweet kisses that fire us, 

We are at your beck and your call. 

Sing heigh! Sing ho! 
For Beauty — our sword is her thrall. 

Sing heigh! Sing ho! ye jolly companions 

bold. 
Sing heigh! Sing ho! Sing ho! for the shin- 
ing red gold. 

For power and pleasure, 
And joy without measure, 
The glittering circles enfold. 

Sing heigh! Sing ho! 
Sing ho! for the glittering gold. 



54 



Sing heigh! Sing ho! my valiant companions 

gay. 
Sing heigh! Sing ho! Our swords bear the 
prizes away. 

Red wine and bright money, 
And kisses like honey, 
We take them whene'er we may. 

Sing heigh! Sing ho! 
Our swords bear the prizes away. 

Sing heigh! Sing ho! Roar out, boys, with 

battle-hot breath! 
Sing heigh! Sing ho! Drink up each the last 
drop he hath! 

Clink glasses and gold, 
And the cutlasses cold! 
Sing heigh! for a jolly, wild death. 

Sing heigh! Sing ho! 
Sing ho! for a jolly, wild death! 



Up in arms they rise to fight 
For the gold of El Dorado, 
Which hath long been Anglo-Saxon. 
But gray fingers wave each spright 
— Dim their banners are unfurled — 
Back. Gray shadows float and flow. 
'Tis the long-past years. 
Into dust melts every throe; 
Passion, greed, and fears. 



55 



Pirates, who with gore were drunk, 
Conquerors and slaves; 
All have fleeted past, 
And their bloody strifes are sunk 
In forgotten graves, 
By the years o'er-grassed. 

But around us lie the groves 
Where the big magnolia blossoms 
Gleam and dream and shine and shimmer. 
While the orange-blossoms' fragrance 
Floats upon the mellow air; 
And the golden oranges, 
Sun-touched, glow in countless beauty, 
Apples of the Hesperides; 
And the skies lie lotus-laden. 

Has the Indian fairy ferried 
Us in magic stone canoe 
Over lone Lake Okechobee, 
Till we lighted on the strand 
Where dear lovers nevermore 
Know of loss or separation; 
Where the magic fountain wells 
That bestows eternal youth? 

Take this tiny, branching fork, 
Dead, long dead. The spring of youth 
Will renew its blooming youth. 
These magnolias which wilted 

56 



At your corsage; orange blossoms 
Which have faded in your hair, 
Let us dip them in the spring, 
And forever shall their fragrance, 
Like our love, endure — forever. 

Lovers are in Bimini. 
In the isles of ceaseless youth, 
Where the magic fountain wells. 
Lovers know: Love is eternal. 
Aye, eternal! Gold nor force 
Bears a man to Bimini. 

Juan Ponce de Leon, 
Many days he sailed, in hopes 
That the little fish would meet him 
Which the Indian legend wots of, 
With the little singing bird, 
Far .out on the rocking billows, 
To conduct him to the isle 
Where the Indian legend hovers, 
Where the pure and ever-welling 
Fountain of eternal youth is: 
'Tis in love's land, Bimini. 

Neither fish nor bird came to him. 
For the fish feared that the Spaniard, 
Catching him, might rip his bright side 
Open, there to look for gold; 
And the bird feared that the Spaniard 



57 



Might conclude his trilling warblings 
Were produced by flutes of gold. 

But at last, in Easter night, 
Christ took pity on his plight, 
And with mild and savior hand 
Guided him to make the land, 
Upon Pascua Florida, 
Or, in English, Easter Sunday; 
As it now is Easter morning, 
Love's calm resurrection day-light, 
All around us and within us. 

It forever shall be thus, 
Thinking upon deathless moments, 
Stories, ocean, orange-blossoms, 
Fountains of eternal youth; 
For the isle of Bimini 
Is in love, sweet love's Atlantis. 

# 

Tis eternal; Gold nor force 
Bears a soul to Bimini. 



BIMINI. 

Step into the stone canoe 
Of the Indian legend, 

Till it sink and take us down 
To the fairy region. 



58 



Through the stillness — hist!— a chant, 

Growing stronger, stronger, 
As we, twirling, near the midst, — 

'Tis the moonbeam choral: 

Glide o'er the wave 
Glinting, and lave 
Silvern the stone-ship that sinks to the cave. 
Gladsome, in silence, glossing it o'er, 
Gleam 'round in guidance, till to the floor, 
Low 'neath the Lake, 
Twirling, it take 
Maiden and lover to love evermore, 
In Bimini. 

Weave now the wave 
Vaulting, and save 
Valor and beauty from watery grave. 
Lightsomely singing, lowly depose 
Both, like a twin but a pallid, white rose. 
Low 'neath the Lake, 
Twirlingly, take 
Maiden and lover remote from their foes, 
In Bimini. 

AWAKENING. 

Awake! for the day in ripples of light 
Breaks through the pillars of cloud, my dar- 
ling, 



59 



As the waves of a river glance plashy and 

bright 
'Round the pile's of a pier-shielding starling. 
Oft have we kissed in its gloom, 
When, with twirling and dexterous hand, 
We shipped the oars, over-spanned 
By the arching vault of the bridge; 
None there but a stray, gray midge 
And the waters' gurgling boom, 
Till we shot out again, with eyes more bright, 
And cheeks that flushed in the sudden light, 
On the river's broadening room. 



DE SOTO. 

Look to the far west! Even there the dawn 
Lifts its gray curtain off the waters 
That flow, mist-blurred, noiseless, like muddy; 

time 
That swallows up good men and bad alike. 

Upon the water floats a crazy boat; 
Keen oars, keen Spanish faces over tabards; 
They lift a black mass from the hold and poise it 
A moment in the air. — The river has it. 
The Mississippi whelms the first white man 
Who ever stained the broad, dark flood with 
gore. 



60 



THE DANCE IN THE PINES. 

There's music on the windy hills 

And the summer seas; 
There's music where the sunshine thrills 

Through the whispering trees; 
And music where small pebbles roll 

In the trickling rill; 
There's music in the silent soul 

When all around is still. 

But that was sweetest music 
That the insects' sing-song sang, 
Shrill and low, 
"Where the South moon shines, 
When we danced within the gloaming of the 
pines, 
To the twing-twong-twang 
Of the old banjo, — 
Oh, 
When we danced within the gloaming of the 
pines. 

There's music in the social verse, 

Sung o'er the flowing cup; 
Music 'round autumn, Nature's hearse, 

When rustling winds spring up. 
Yes, — grieved or delighted, 

What is this world? — A song. 
But our true hearts united 

Will own it all life long: 

61 



That was sweetest music 
Which the insects' sing-song sang, 
Shrill and low, 
Where the South moon shines, 
When we danced within the gloaming of the 
pines, 
To the twing-twong-twang 
Of the old banjo, — 
Oh, 
When we danced within the gloaming of the 
pines. 

CHEROKEE LEGEND. 

Okefinokee. 

O'er the Father of Waters we dwelt in the 
years 
When the Nation was happy and free; 
Where the sun o'er the Blue Ridge the morn- 
ing uprears 
O'er the land of the East Cherokee, 
O'er the land of the East Cherokee, 
Cherokee. 

To the south dwelt the daughters of heaven's 
own king, 
In a cypress swamp endless to view; 
Where the silent, black waters, immeshed in 
a ring, 
Lead around the bewildered canoe, 

62 



Lead around the bewildered canoe, 
The canoe. 

And our hunters were starved when the Maids 
of the Sun , 

Brought them life in a golden-hued fruit; 
But the labyrinth bade them forever to shun 
Till the wind in the leaf should be mute, 
Till the wind in the leaf should be mute, 
Should be mute. 

Though they strove for the city up-reared o'er 
a lake, 
Though they thought as they struggled they 
neared, 
Like enchantment they still were immeshed in 
the brake, 
As it vanished and then reappeared, 
As it vanished and then reappeared, 
Reappeared. 

When at length a lone chief reached the Blue 
Ridge again 
Of that faded and famishing band, 
Full loud were the boasts and the songs of 
young men: 
They would find and subdue Fairyland, 
They would find and subdue Fairyland, 
Fairyland. 

But no Cherokee warrior discovered the land; 
No, not even a path could he see. 

63 



Now in the Far West fades our last little band 
From the land of the East Cherokee, 
From the land of the East Cherokee, 
Cherokee. 

DIXIE HAS COME HOME AGAIN. 

Memorial Day at New Orleans. 

Load your arms with fragrant bloom, 
Gallant Gray and Blue combine; 
The cypress with the laurel twine 
To deck each fallen hero's tomb; 
Fallen in the days of gore. 
No matter what the cloth he wore. 
Dixie has come home again. 

Whisper as you place each crown, 
To the hearts that sleep beneath: 
Our brothers' swords are in the sheath; 
Peace has followed on the frown. 
Clasping manly hand in hand, 
The Gray and Blue united stand. 
Dixie has come home again. 

The sun lies on the granite hill 
And sleeps upon the everglade. 
So pass each shadow and each shade, 
Though love and grief shall have their fill. 
With flowers deck each hero's grave. 
In death united sleep the brave. 
Our Dixie has come home again. 

64 



THE FIDDLER OF L'ISLE DERNIERE. 

That was a fine season of — never mind when — 
For cotton and sugar, and women and men; 
And all the Creoles of New Orleans town 
To LTsle Derniere in a body went down. 
And the fiddler went, too, with a shining bald 

crown, 
In a white linen duster, ridiculous gown — 
And the fiddle-bow went up and the fiddle-bow 

went down. 

That was a fierce hurricane — never mind 

when — 
When the Gulf took the Island, the women 

and men; 
And all the Creoles from New Orleans town 
With LTsle Derniere went down. 
And the fiddler went, too, with a shining bald 

crown, 
In a white linen duster, ridiculous gown — 
And the fiddle-bow went up and the fiddle-bow 

went down. 



65 



PRAYER TO APHRODITE PSITHYROS.* 

Passion-tossed as the whispers of seething 
sea-foam, 
When out of lissome waves thou arosest white- 
fleshed, 
Whispering pray I, oh Goddess! give, give us 
beauty, 

Me and my loved one. 

Some of us must die young as thy fair Adonis; 
Some fall old and fade as thy loved Anchises. 
Whispering pray I, oh! give us, give us in 
beauty, 

Youth and old age, too. 

Sacrifices we offer thee, twofold, Goddess! 
Take thou them, both our hearts, from thy 

blind son's bow-string. 
Whispering pray I, with rose-dart winged with 
dove-down, 

Immolate both thou. 

"Life and death are as one to thee, white Im- 
mortal! 
Spirit and flesh are one, as thy smiling thrills us. 
Whispering pray I, oh, beautiful let our joint 
life, 

Beauteous our death be! 

♦Aphrodite Psithyros was so called because all vows were to 
be offered to her in whispers. 

66 



THE ROBINS. 

Where do the robin-redbreasts go 

When the icy North is swathed in snow? 

They go to North Carolina. 
One and two and three and four 
Robin-redbreasts, more and more, 

Come to North Carolina. 

A whirry, 

A flurry, 
F the old-field pinery, 
Of robin finery; 
Red sparks that shiver 
O'er the Deep River, 
In the tall-shafted halls 
Around Cedar Falls: 
That is Robins' Roost, 
At winter in North Carolina. 

What a flight through the wooded 
Domain! Who's that, hooded? 

Mr. Owl, howdee do? — 
"Too-whoo-too--who-oo-oo S" 



Where do the robin-redbreasts go 
When the smiling North is free from snow? 
Where do they go from Robins' Roost, 
When the woods are trailing-arbutus'd? — 
Nor'ward from North Carolina. 



67 



And oh! as the robins go home, go home, 
On the spring's wing of delight borne, 

Let us go with them, 

Let us flit with them, 
Where the spring-time sky is a limpid dome 
O'er the hedge of bourgeoning white-thorn. 
Nor' ward ho! 

Nor'ward from North Carolina. 



FINALE. 

Vanished is the dreamland time| 

Like a pagan creed, 
Or like Leonais bells' chime. 

Was it e'er indeed? 



68 



THE FIRESIDE 



THE FIRESIDE. 

To make a happy fireside clime 

To weans and wife, 
That's the true pathos and sublime 

.Of human life. 

Burns. 



WELCOME! 

Driftwood of passion built the home 

Of poetry. 
Ye who have roamed or are to roam 
The sea 
Of weltering strife 
That men call human life, 
Come in. 
Wand'rer, come in. 

Verse-tales of gloaming and of sheen 

The rafters dance; 
Of lands and souls most sweetly seen 
In trance 
Of twilight hour. 
The world let glare and glower! 
Come in; 
Wand'rer, come in. 

When dim the mist, and storms are rife, 

Travel oppressed, 
Take refuge in a poet's life 
To rest 
In warmth and light. 
Out of thy toil and night, 
Come in, 
Wand'rer, come in. 



73 



LIBERTY. 

Liberty, where dost abide, 
From our human eyes to hide? 

Ridest thou wealth's and fashion's wain? 
Does it free to gild a chain? 

Oft thy garments fleeting trail 
Where the sky-lit cliff I scale. 

Oft I catch a glimpse of thee 
In the hues from off the sea. 

Oft thy floating form is seen, 

Where blue sky looks through still green. 

But in all this glimpsing grace 
Thou hast no abiding place. 

Thou beneath no roof-tree art 

Where love's chains have bound a heart. 

True, those chains are flower-enwreathed. 
Thou in chains hast never breathed. 

Higher dost thou none allow? 
Love is higher far than thou. 

In the soul of poetry 
Is thy dwelling, Liberty, 
Where I'll usher Love to thee. 



74 



SLEEP. 

Calm and innocent 
Warden of the waking! 
Tenderly beloved, 
Half revealed in slumber! 
Though my hungry eyes faint, 
Longing for thy eye-sight, 
Though my thirsty hearing 
Famish for the music 
Of thy modulated, 
Low, melodious murmur, 
Rest, thou beauteous vision, 
Living, without life, 
Deathless in soft death. 

BUDS AND FLOWERS. 

The bud is fair, but only fair because 
It is the embryo of the full-blown rose; 
A brief epitome in Nature's prose, 

A subtile prelude sung by mystic laws, 

A hint of beauty innocent of flaws. 
"Hs thus the budding maiden as she grows 
To woman's verge, yet naught of evil knows, 

The reverent beholder sweetly awes. 

The bud that dies a bud is garden dross; 
The maid that dies a maid is cause of wailing. 
We wish them married bloom, not deathly 
shade. 



75 



A dainty bud my own dear sweetheart was! 
Yet each true lover finds this law unfailing: 
The wife blooms lovelier than buds the 
maid. 



THE ANGELS' KISS. 

When, as the angel of the cheery day 
Leaves, with the sun, this middle world of 

ours, 
When weep, like babes, the little sleepy 
flowers, 
He lingers as who fain would not away. 
Then hies to him a Sister, not so gay, 
The silent angel whom the night embowers. 
Nor day nor night is; both their kiss devours; 
And in the welkin reigns the twilight ray. 
But they must part, so runneth God's decree. 
They for a moment know what meeting is, 
And then they know what pangs of parting 
are. 
E'en we two Earthly lovers, we may see 
Their bliss and pain: The Angels' parting 
kiss. 
Behold it in the sky: The Evening Star! 



VESPERS. 

The Earth now build to God her even-dome. 
Her shadow points into infinitude; 



76 



Far grander than St. Peter's church at Rome, 
Star-lit it stands in vaulted solitude. 

We, priest and priestess, stand at even-prayer 
Beneath the star-lit dome that vaults above, 

The angels chanting in the silent air 
Their solemn vesper hymn of "God is Love." 



THE RAIN. 

The rain has many voices on the roof, 
And in the dripping trees it speaks to me. 

Near, it sounds gentle; gentle, far aloof; 
The black of night is softer, velvety. 

At breakfast, in the gray and pearly dawn, 
I hear thee say with archly loving pout, 

While peeps the fresh green from the shVj 
young lawn: 
"Let me stay in; it is too wet without." 

SPRING MORNING. 

I feel the trembling of the dappled fawn 
In the spring darkness just before the dawn 
Throbbing my heart and pulsing through my 
limbs. 

Out! forth into the air, o'er mead and hill! 
The earth in rapture swims! 

Oh, fair spring spirits! lead me where ye will. 



77 



THE SPRING RAIN. 

Call ye this rain, these pearls of heavenly joy, 
Which Heaven, hidden in spring night and 
vastness chaste, 

Instilled in cosmic love without alloy, 
Into the Earth in fruitful clouds embraced? 

Oh, it is love that makes the wide world live, 
That thrills in every throat and cloud and tree; 

That sanctifies whate'er we take or give. 
Life may be brief; love is infinity. 

THE MORNING GIFT. 

Oh, love, I bring a slender willow-wand, 
The greeting of the tiptoe Spring to thee. 

His wave of life has burst o'er all the land, 
And drowned grim winter in a verdant sea. 

These tiny leaves life's sea-drops seem to mej 
And in the trees where all the birds keep trystj 

Extends far o'er the hills and brooks and lea, 
A faintly green and brightly shimmering mist. 

WADING UP THE RAMAPO. 

Sturdy shoes of corded twine, 
Bathing-breeches, cap, and plaid, 
And an alpen-stock, my lad; 

78 



Grub, and flask of generous wine, 
And through gloom and shine we go, 
Wading up the Ramapo. 

Earth-smell, bird-song, thunder, storm, 
Crash and flash from shore to shore, 
Waves behind and foam before; 
Light and shadow, sound and foam; 
1'hus through gloom and shine we go, 
Wading up the Ramapo. 

Fish? Ah, well! we're satisfied. 
Once we caught at single plunge 
Salmon, trout, whale, muskalonge! 
So farewell! The swift waves glide. 
Telling gospel-truth we go, 

Wading up the Ramapo. 



ROYAL PROGRESS. 

Why are the willows golden-twigged? 

Why are the willows golden-wigged? 
God Spring last night, 

Unseen, unheard of human wight, 
Passed with bacchantic retinue, 

Tossing up to the ether blue, 
From his sceptre's tip, his golden crown, 

Spraying and scattering spring-life down. 
Evoe, Bacche! 



79 



EARTH'S INCENSE. 

Beneath the embroidered altar-cloth of night 
Angels withdrew the sun, the golden chalice 
Of life's communion light. 
O'er all the hills and valleys 

Poureth her silver tones, the moon, 
Earth's acolyte. 

The vernal cinctured priestess, fecund, chaste, 

With half a stole, half garb of morrice on, 
Bride-priestess heaven-embraced, 
Sweet Earth, our mother, breathes her orison; 
And through the silent night, 
Her soul takes upward flight. 



ARBOR DAY. 

This is the birthday of the trees, 
God's messengers in storm and breeze! 
Shade, birds'-song, sunlight, coolness, dew, 
Scents, air, dreams, music dripping through 
Your twining twigs and dappling leaves, 
Heaven's semi-living temple-eaves! 
Heart's rest! Oh, how I love ye, trees! 
God's messengers in storm and breeze. 



80 



A SPRING POSY. 

O who could sleep in the spring-time, 
The hop and skip and sing time, 
When the children play ring-a-ring rosy 

And sing their roundelay? 
Children are like a posy. 

Spring is in the way. 

O who could sleep in the spring-time, 
The nest and chirping and wing time, 
When all that in winter is prosy 

Warbleth its roundelay? 
Bird-songs in a posy! 

Spring is in the way. 

O who could sleep in the spring-time, 
The whisper and blushing and ring-time, 
When Love that in snow lay dozy 

Warbleth his roundelay, 
And of heart-thoughts makes a posy 

And brings them to thee on the way? 

THE OMNIPRESENT SPIRIT WORLD. 

Right on the doorstep of your home 
Sit moonlight fairy and midnight gnome. 
Within the room ye breathe are elves, 
And ye are spirits, ye yourselves. 
The Graces curl your cheeks and hair; 
Nonsense and love are ev'rywhere. 



NIGHT-FALL. 

God bade eke love thy neighbor fro' the 
spleen; 
And who than ladies sweeter neighbors be? 
A lusty life in lovis service been. 

William Dunbar. 



Alas! for heroes traveling many a mile, 
Of Arctic or of Afric woes to prate. 

Dear girl, without a mote of pride or guile, 
At simpler words thy loving eyes dilate 
As we pass 'neath our honey-suckled gate. 

No lack of speech when we together are! 

Except when in thy eye's soft, lambent star 
I read — astrology devoid of sin — 

That soon our bliss shall be without a bar. 
A lusty life in lovis service been. 

Away! away, gray day-shapes' weary file! 
Faint and be gone! your gaunt, harsh 
throng abate! 
In spell-land glades now live we for a while. 
With her pure form your vile forms may not 

mate. 
In dusk, the coming of the moon we wait. 
She comes, she comes, still slumbering, from 

afar; 
And as around Day's dying embers char, 

82 



The Day's red passions fade and die within, 
Leaving no pain, aye, leaving scarce a scar. 
A lusty life in lovis service been. 

Behold the church's venerable pile, 

The steeple's grayly-silvered, sloping slate, 
The modest roof's faint, redly-gleaming tile, 

The green hills capped with tree-clouds on 
their pate. 

On this calm evening stillness let us sate 
Our eyes a moment. Night's swift-rushing car 
Obscures it now. Our light she may not mar, 

While clings my arm 'round you, my radiant 
queen, 
Our peaceful light of love without a jar. 

A lusty life in lovis service been. 

I'll guide thee up the perpendicular 

Cliff to our nest. Your motion secular, 

Stars, hold a moment! Bend on us your 
sheen! 
Weep for your millionaire, your mighty czar I 

A lusty life in lovis service been. 



HOME JOYS. 

How small the joys that soothe and bless 

How infinitely strong! 
<3ne does not need great happiness, 

But a wee bit right along. 



83 



LAKE TASHMOO. 

Martha's Vineyard. 

Are not the shadows deeper, cleaner, 

On grass more green and true, 
The rippling wave and tree serener, 

The heavens more blue, 
Our joy in life both gentler, keener, 
At Lake Tashmoo? 
Good-bye, Tashmoo! 
Good-bye, dear Tashmoo! 

Is it wild roses, millions, blowing 

In unregarded bloom? 
Is 't laurelled Nature's altar glowing 

With bayberry perfume? 
Is it the sun-clad hours around us going, going? 
They will be gone so soon. 

Good-bye, Tashmoo! 
Good-bye, dear Tashmoo! 



THE RAINBOW OF LIFE. 

In the rainbow of life 
Grief and jest are at strife. 
These would you sever? 

In the sky or heart, 
Its colors are never 
Wholly apart. 



84 



MID-OCTOBER. 

The spring has been tempestuous and swift, 

The summer luxuriant and long. 
The fall has been slow. September has been 

A ballad of moonlight song. 

Stirless, with scarce a ripple, the lake 

Lieth the hills between; 
Mirrored in gorgeous coloring, 

The trees and the sky within. 
Never out of a fairy tale, 

Such a lake has been. 

In the>foreground purple asters spread, 

Scattered among the weeds 
And grasses and sumachs, down to the sedge 
and reeds, 
A blaze of Nature's garden bed, 
Sifting the new year seeds. 

A shiver! 

The lake resumes 
Its course like a river. 

Behind the hills booms 
Thunder. 
From under 
The trees the sun-rays fast 

Are vanished. 
The summer days at last 

Are banished. 



85 



Helter, skelter 

To shelter! 
Black storm clouds out of the north 

With flashes 

And swift rain dashes 
Chase the departing summer forth. 

One last look, 

As a face forsook 

By the prime of manhood, 

He turns on the wan wood, 

And anon 

Is gone. 

The storm clears and the air is keen and cold. 
The woods and wold 
Will henceforth be inhabited by days 
Who, garnering the last of Nature's sheaves, 
Have their white-frosted morns and eves, 

Warmed to thin sapphire haze 
O'er purple trees and hills in the still 
noonday rays. 



GOD'S CANVAS. 

I am returned. 

I meet you. 
The day has burned 

Out, as I greet you. 

86 



The evening stillness o'er the vale 
Perfumed with scents the meads exhale; 
The solemn woodlands' rustling croon; 
Our solitary house, its panes lit by the moon; 
The moon scarce risen, and the sun that set; 
And you and I between 
New-met, 
With twilight for a veil and heaven for a screen, 
Unheard, unseen 
By human eyes in all our solitude, 
Where peace and honor brood; 
The mountain-rill in mountain-twilight fainted; 
To God seem as a picture He has painted 
With beams of love's own light 
Upon the boundless night. 
All space the canvas that He paints upon. 
Dost not thou feel the Artist looking on? 

WHEN FIRST WE KISSED. 

When first we kissed the day was growing old. 

The storm-clouds whirled a death-dance o'er 
the wold; 
Their glum musicians were the pattering rain 
That fiddles in gray mantles o'er the plain, 

And his shrill pipes the clammy wind blew cold. 

But though the element did moan and scold, 

Our eyes of warmth and fragrance, longing told; 

Our lips breathed music in a different strain 

When first we kissed. 

87 



Amid my thoughts and fancies manifold 
None has on memory a firmer hold, 
As shines a star through slowly gathering 
mist, 
Than the calm picture of King Charles's Wain 
O'erhead, bright-clearing through the driving 
rain, 

When first we kissed. 



THE HEAVENLY FARMERS. 

When the fields of golden sunshine 
Ripen to the evening sun, 
And the Day has homeward wended 
Like a man whose task is done, 

Comes the Night with silvery sickle, 
Rears and stacks her dusky sheaves, 
And from off her toiling forehead 
Drops the dew upon the leaves. 

Then she takes for flails the night-winds, 
Till the golden grains on high, 
Many myriad-thousand garnered, 
Shine as star-lights in the sky. 

Then, with pride and labor blushing, 
Waits she till the Day returns; 
Till his bright, round kiss and golden 
On her crimson forehead burns: 



88 



"I myself shall delve and sow with 
Many a green and golden elf. 
In deep woods on velvet mosses, 
Sleep, dear Night, and rest thyself." 

STUDY. 

The house is hushed. I love the quiet hour 

When, slumbering all beside, one light alone 
Beams softly from a high-perched, studious 
bower, 
As though a beacon-star for conference shone 
To summon starry spirits from their throne, 
To gather in the circling lamp's mild sheen 
And teach me, who but am, they that are and 
have been. 

The good, the wise, the smiling, the severe, 
Constellate like the orbed heavens shine; 

Some like a glittering fixed star in his sphere, 
Some in their light mild lambency combine. 
Rule me, ye stars of thought! forever twine 

Your hidden influences in my soul, 

To guide, to chide, to cheer, to chasten and 
control. 



89 



THE BRIDAL VEIL. 

Gained the noblest object 
Of a strong man's striving, 
Must I still be restless, 
Wrestling with you night-shades? 

Sleep! O Sleep! I woo thee! 
By the lily limb and 
Innocence breathed calmly 
From this living statue 
Sleeping at my side! Thou, 
Thou, like me shalt sleep, if 
Thou'll but come to me, Sleep. 

But the star-light vampires 
Thought and keen-toothed fancy, 
Bite my eyelids open, 
Fanning me with dusk wings, 
Couching on the cheek paled, 
Pallid with their couchings. 
There is no sleep! But, love, 
Rest my soul is finding, 
Searching, keenly glancing, 
O'er and through thee all, love. 

NIGHT-THOUGHTS. 

From the German of Goethe. 

How I pity ye, ye luckless stars! 
Beautiful ye are, and brilliant light ye 

90 



Hard-pressed sailors with your favoring beams, 
Though unguerdoned by the gods and mankind. 

All my pity is because ye love not, 
And resistless do the hours forever 
Lead your cycling orbits through the ether. 

What a journey have ye made already, 
Whilst I, lingering in my sweetheart's arms, I 
Have forgotten your march and the midnight's! 



SOGGARTH AROON.* 

Tho' I am a protestant, you priest o' Rome, 
Tho' I ha' a wifie, you only a home, 
Tho* —ah! but a truce to "tho," by the horned 

moon, 
I love you right dearly, O Soggarth Aroon. 
Soggarth Aroon, Soggarth Aroon, 
Here's from me 
Love to thee, 
Soggarth Aroon! 

We've scandaled your parish, I've shocked 
all my church, 
By tippling a wine not of elder or birch, 
And singing o' songs to banjo and bassoon, 
Of our Moore and our Burns, O Soggarth 
Aroon. 

♦Irish: Priest dear. 

91 



Oft after gay chat and blithe banter and glee 
We each have read silent the Breviary, 
While sank the swift hour down to midnight's 

deep noon, 
And both read devoutly, O Soggarth Aroon. 

Will Shakespeare sat with us full many a 
night, 
And 'round us the elves of midsummer danced 

bright; 
On Homer's and Horace's bounty and boon 
We've feasted in starry hours, Soggarth Aroon. 

St. Thomas Aquinas we thumbed as we spoke, 
Who mysteries world-wide limns forth stroke 

on stroke, 
And Kant and Spinoza, whom you would im- 
pugn. 
Thus held we high converse, O Soggarth 
Aroon. 



And once, when my wife found us stuck to 
the spot, 
The wee hours had ended, but Cicero not; 
And you, friend, and I, friend, we each held a 

spoon 
To cheese our Welsh rabbit, O Soggarth 
Aroon. 



92 



How swiftly the waves of life true friendship 
part! 
You into the cell and me into the mart. 
If we ne'er meet again, for men do die so soon — 
We'll meet ne'er to part again, Soggarth Aroon. 
Soggarth Aroon, Soggarth Aroon, 
Here's from me 
Love to thee, 
Soggarth Aroon! 

SAFE FOREVER! 

Yes, in the past there were minutes so gay 

That it is sad. 
Yet, what we have may be taken away, 

Not what we had. 



THE GOLDEN-ROD. 

The State Flower of New York. 

When the summer turns 'round to go to God, 
There waveth from every hill he has trod 
His farewell wish: 'tis the golden-rod. 

When the lengthening dusks into Yule night 
nod, 
And the tapering days point the birth of God, 
In a silver-gray shroud wave over the sod, 
The galaxied ghosts of the golden-rod. 



93 



PERSONAL PROPERTY. 

That which to others you have given, 
Marks how much you are worth. 

Man taketh naught with him to heaven, 
But what he gave on Earth. 



CHRISTMAS. 

The Christ! No skeptic's flippant speech 
The world-deep mysteries e'er can reach. 
Sneers pass like the song of fools, 
A bright but powerless nothing. 

Beneath their crackle and frothing 
Flows the deep stream of humanity, 
Singing: Christ is Man for He lives in me, 
And Christ is God for He rules. 

Earth turns to heaven from a sod 
Upon the birthday of our God, 
At the hallowed Christmas-tide. 

Faiths and crowns have slipped away 
Into the past in dim decay, • 
Sorrow and sin and death have faded, 
Since first the Christ their realm invaded. 

But when the glad bells' tongue again 
Rings out His birth-night in the year, 



94 



The sacred Christ grows young again; 
A little child He doth appear. 

And none within His kingdom stand 
But Christ is born within their heart. 
And happy children through the land 
Receive the gifts His hands impart. 
Thus Christ appears in glory mild, 
A little child, a little child. 



THE MISTLETOE. 

In time of yore, now long ago, 

Marian, Maid Marian, 
The hearth-stone saw the Yule log glow, 

Marian, 
A pious monk, with midnight chime, 

Marian, 
Rang in the holy Christmas time, 

Marian, my Marian. 

The stilly sun-wend time is good, 

Marian, Maid Marian, 
For every wight in hill or wood, 

Marian; 
If aught that night be pent in pain, 

Marian, 
Christ gives it license to complain, 

Marian, my Marian. 



95 



Then fell upon the good monk's ear, 

Marian, Maid Marian, 
A plaintive wail, sobbing and clear, 

Marian; 
A maid shone in an ancient oak, 

Marian, 
And to the holy man she spoke, 

Marian, my Marian. 

I have been witched into this tree, 

Marian, maid Marian; 
A holy kiss shall set me free, 

Marian. 
The monk prayed: If no sin it be, 

Marian, 
Lord, send Thy token unto me, 

Marian, my Marian. 

When, lo! upon the barren bough, 

Marian, Maid Marian, 
A heavenly token, true enow, 

Marian. 
Chaste berries pale 'gan forth to grow, 

Marian; 
Thus came the holy mistletoe, 

Marian, my Marian. 

And sith that night, at sun-wend time, 
Marian, Maid Marian, 

It is the custom and no crime, 
Marian, 



96 



That lips to lips give holy bliss, 

Marian, 
When 'neath the mistletoe they kiss, 
Robin, 

Fair Robin, 

And Marian. 



THE OLD YEAR SAYS GOOD-BYE! 

I mused upon the New Year's Eve, 
'Mid memories of prickly holly 
And mistletoeing Christmas folly, 
When — did I see? did I believe? — 
A swallow-winged, dim shape stood near, 
And said: "I am the old, old Year; 

Ready to fly out into the sea 
Of the shapeless past. 
Now fleeting fast, 

I've come to say good-bye to thee. 
To young eyes mysteries are unseen; 
You've passed the threshold — thrice thirteen, 

And therefore you may look at me. 

On swallow-wings comes every year. 
Over thy hearth it dwelleth here. 
Be thy flame sooty or be the hearth clear, 
Over thy hearth-stone nests the year. 

Time's endless sea 
Eateth each hour up greedily 



97 



And has almost eaten my last. 

It is vanishing fast; 

Soon its death will be sung 

By the church bell's clapper, Time's sea-wolf 

tongue, 
Licking, and clicking, a smacking chime, 
Tolling, 
Lolling 
Out hungrily. 
I, tarnished Old Year, go from thee. 
The Happy New Year comes from God. 

J. heard it coming merrily, 
Of lissome step and velvet shod. 
"Farewell, Old Year! I'll think of thee." 
In either's eye there stood a tear, 
Then, in a haze, as it should seem, 
The Old Year vanished utterly. 

A soft touch waked me from my dream; 
A dear voice cried: "Happy New Year!" 

HOMAGE. 

Pure woman has a majesty 
That calleth not with voice or gesture, 
Nor borrows aid of gem or vesture, 
Yet do we know it when we see. 

It is not proud, it is not vain; 
It will not bow to your behests; your 

98 



Allegiance doth it claim; it tests your 
Faith to believe, strength to remain. 

It lightens sorrow, chastens glee; 
It claims naught, yet you bend the knee — 
A manly homage, fitly given. 
He who thus bows, his chain is riven: 
The better man in him is free. 

THE PILLOW. 

True wifely love, when heart and soul are wed, 
' Is like a pillow to an aching head. 

SUNSET SKIES. 

I look at the sunset 

Alone on the field. 

Baby-angels' heads 

Look through the golden curtain. 

Not a breeze stirring! 

They peep through the calm, green sky, 

Curiously, 

Innocent, 
Down at the Earth. 

MOTHERHOOD. 

On mothers God bestowed His right sublime 
To launch upon this lower, minor Earth 
The spirits that shall give to life its worth, 

LofC. 

99 



The lights upon the cloud of future time. 
'Tis right to sing of heroes in our rhyme, 

Of devils, God, deep tragedy, and mirth. 

All these are held in song's wide, serpent 
girth; 
All these out-tower not song's eagle climb. 
The Mothers, though, no human singing hails, 

Their realm where even angels have not trod, 
What do they launch from ante-natal veils? 

Every spirit cumbered with a clod: 
Time's arrows, suns, storm-birds and nightin- 
gales, — 

Aye, one within her bosom bore our God. 



IT'S A BOY! 

It is a boy? All right, though I love girls. 
I would have dallied with her ringlet curls, 
And in her laugh seen your own row of pearls. 
So you're a boy, 
My Joy? 
Why, dear, he's fatter than a buttered bun. 
Say, it will be considerable fun 
To have the rascal climb all o'er me! 



When he grows up, I guess we'll both ac- 
knowledge 
Our boy is just the boy to send to college, 



ioo 



To learn foot-ball and other forms of knowl- 
edge. 

So you're a boy, 
My Joy? 
I'll bet hard cash that scamp will take the bun. 
Say, it will be considerable fun 
When he comes home; I know he'll just 
adore thee. 



And when our afternoon in life grows late, 
And our wee chappie grows to man's estate, 
He'll get each prize his old dad didn't get. 
So you're a boy, 
My Joy? 
Don't you let anybody take your bun. 
Say, it will be considerable fun 
To see this scamp go clear before me! 



HIS FIRST SUCCESS. 

Hear him crow! 

Hear him crow! 

Baby! 

Baby! 

He has got a hold of his toe! 

Papa, come and see 

The Boy Baby 

In the pride of his first Great Victory. 



BOY BABY DANCES. 

Oh, what did the chickadee say, Boy Baby? 
What said the chickadee? 
In the room it came, 
One leg was lame, 
It said: "Baby, hop with me." 
That's what the chickadee said, Boy Baby; 
Thus said the chickadee. 

And what did the chickaree say, Boy Baby? 
What said the chickaree? 
"Baby, have some nuts; 
No ifs or buts, 
You will lunch with the chickaree." 
That's what the chickaree said, Boy Baby; 
Thus said the chickaree. 

And what did the oriole say, Boy Baby? 
What said the oriole? 
"Come into my nest; 
I guess you'd best; 
It's a pouch with a wee, sma' hole." 
That's what the oriole said, Boy Baby; 
Thus said the oriole. 

And what did the baby say, Boy Baby? 
What said our Boy Baby? 
"I am going to dance, 
So give me your hands, 
I'll dance with you all three." 



102 



That's what the baby said, Boy Baby; 
Thus said our Boy Baby. 

And what did your papa do, Boy Baby? 
What did your papa do? 
He came in the room 
And he heard the tune, 
And he danced with the four of you. 
That's what your papa did, Boy Baby; 
Thus did your papa do. 

What tunes did your mamma play, Boy Baby? 
To us five all in a wheel? 
A slow waltz first, 
And a hornpipe next, 
And then a Virginia reel. 
Those are the tunes mamma played, Boy Baby, 
With laughter many a peal. 



THREE RATIOS. 

At knowledge, fame or fortune as we clutch, 
What to the wide world is a man? Not much. 
When he has won his knowledge, flattery, pelf, 
How little is the wide world to himself! 
But when the port is won, the sail is furled, 
How much one can be to one's little world! 



103 



* COMING HOME FROM BUSINESS. 

Oh, richest glow at even-tide, 
When opes the street-door, backward swinging, 
— A cloud rolled back — my heaven wide, 
With ruddy glimpse and snatch of singing, 
Silenced by scamper; small arms clinging; 
The kiss, the question, the caresses; 
A sweet child's locks, a dear wife's tresses; 
The lingering meal at restful ease; 
The baby's babblings on my knees; 
The grate-fire and the purring cat; 
And her, my queen — Fate leave me that! — 
Speak not of heaven in yon chill dome; 
A pure man's heaven is in his home. 



GOOD NIGHT. 

My house with high, square turret crowned. 
Lulls to the breath beneath, around; 
Bird-songs and tree-sounds to me call. 
Good-night, and God be with you all. 

The moon gilds Mahwah murmuring low, 
The sun sinks down o'er Ramapo, 
And bright shines Venus, silvery ball. 
Good night, and God be with you all. 

Where sun doth set, where sun doth rise, 
May laughter gladden hearts and eyes; 



104 



Yet I exclude not tears and pall. 
Good night, and God be with you all. 

For tears full oft are heaven's own dew. 
So may your tears be aye to you, 
On grave or heart, where'er they fall. 
Good night, and God be with you all. 

In misty mead the green frogs croak; 
The lights are hung in heaven's high hall; 
God draws the darkness like a cloak. 
Good night, and God be with you all. 



THE HOURS. 

I sometimes wonder, if the hour that flees, 
And sees us happy, sighs not as it flings 
Itself into eternity, and sees 
The dark cup which the next hour brings. 



TRUE HAPPINESS. 
After the Greek of Aristotle. 

Some one has carved o'er the temple of happy 

Latona at Delos: 
"Noblest of all is The Just; strong soundness 

of health is the Best Thing; 
Sweetest, however, of all is to obtain the be- 

lov'd." 



105 



Noblest, and sweetest, and best disassociate 
not as at Delos. 

Noblest, and sweetest, and best, Happiness cen- 
tres them all. 



REAPER DEATH. 

There is a reaper called Death. 
He has power over breath. 
Look! how his visage grim doth lower, 
And how his scythe he sharpeneth! 
Take heed! take heed! my pretty, little flower. 

Straightway he wields his gleaming scythe; 
He cuts through culm and stalk and withe. 
Look, how his bony eye doth glower! 
Hear screech his blade, so keenly snithe! 
Take heed! take heed! my pretty, little flower. 

He droppeth crown and root apart, 
Nor heedeth anguish, heedeth smart. 
God knoweth why He gave him power 
To cut my heart out of my heart; 
For Death hath mown my pretty, little flower. 



106 



OUR CHILD IS DEAD. 

Our child is dead. On each parental heart 
Has fallen a heavy, chilling, choking blow, 

Though thine, my poor love, is the heavier part. 

With him our bright-eyed future did depart; 
In him Death did our fairest flower mow. 



Unchilded, on the morrow we shall start, 
My dearest partner of our common woe, 
And you will whisper to me, weeping low: 
Our child is dead. 



For thy poor bosom pierced the keener dart, 
Love, reverend to me, childless as thou art, 

And stricken by this poignant, hopeless throe. 
But think what Hand hath laid on thee this 
smart, 
And that our deep, strong love remains, al- 
though 

Our child is dead. 



THE AMARANTH. 

Russia's steppe conceals a flower, 

By a mystic river deep; 
In the first drops of the first spring shower, 

Maidens go and seek. 



107 



Maidens of either sex may go, 

They who unsullied be. 
Lowly the amaranth doth grow, 

Still in the stilly lea. 

But if you find it, the heavens change, 

Plants and flowers and birds; 
And fairy things past mortal range, 

Talk unto thee in words. 

Nay, if you find it, the amaranth flower, 

Hearts to thy heart yield up 
All that of holiest love they hold, 

Deep in their chaliced cup. 

We roam the steppe of life to seek 

The amaranthine flower. 
We do not find it in sages deep, 

Nor in a lady's bower. 

We find not its petals in wine or wit, 

In sacred song or art. 
Sometimes we have a glimpse of it, 

When we heal a heart. 



MY LIFE. 

My life began with thee and I live through thee. 
That was not life I knew before I knew thee 
And was thy wife. 

1 08 



That mere existence was the briefest span 
Of mental life. But then, deep, full, began 
My life. 

Oh, what a vista luminous and fine 
You gave my soul! You gave these eyes of 
mine 

The love of strife, 

With visions never known within my ken, 
Till you appeared, my chosen of all men! 
My life! 

What you with keen compunction take, I give 
To thee most freely. Take my all. I live 
In thee, my life! 

And I must die not earthly life alone, 
But spirit, being, heart, if thou be gone, 
My life! 



THE SACRAMENT OF HOLY WEDLOCK. 

What's in the kiss one gives one's fiancee? 
The sunlight flecking gaily o'er life's way, 
The spring-birds' woodland-nesting song of 

glee, 
Bearing the choir in love's bright comedy. 

109 



When both have drunk the cup of joint afflic- 
tion, 
Life's sacrament of God's full benediction, 
What's in the kiss the husband gives his wife? 
Love — love — the deep, dear tragedy of life. 



THANKSGIVING. 

Of all Thy great gifts, noblest is the wife, 
My Lord and Father, Thou has given me. 
Above firm head and heart and buoyant life 
That wonder what 'tis people call ennui. 

Thanks for Thy gracious gifts I render Thee; 
Thanks for the casket-framework fit for strife; 
But greater, nobler far, thanks for the wife, 
My Lord and Father, Thou hast given me. 

Heartless Misfortune's keen dissecting-knife, 
That searcheth out the stuff a man may be; 
Triumphant Victory's joyous, shrill fife, 
Stir but one thought, this thought unceasingly: 
Of all Thy great gifts, noblest is the wife, 
My Lord and Father, Thou hast granted me. 



no 



IS MARRIAGE A FAILURE? 

I strongly claim there is no such miscarriage. 
But first of all, let's see what is this marriage. 
I strongly claim that marriage never fails. 
But don't confound marriage with wedding 
bells. 

For, where you meet as iron seeks the pole, 
There you have marriage; soul must wed the 

soul. 
That will hold out through all life's shade and 

sheen, 
Indissoluble; be as it has been 
Till Death's calm breath lifts from God's face 

the veils. 
Such, such is marriage. Marriage never fails. 



in 



6E'P 



10 



190ft 



SEP 10 1902 

1 COPY DEL, TO CAT. D!V. 
SEP. 10 1902 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

MlMlllllli 

018 392 114 9 




